


The Fiddler

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: Having their memories restored, Margo and Quentin are faced with the man who is not Eliot.





	1. Chapter 1

The three of them were on the porch of the Cottage, not really looking at each other. The feeling of loss was so palpable. Unfathomable. He was truly gone, this shell with them the only tangible thing he had left behind. She couldn’t help but hate him. It wasn’t his fault. She knew this. She knew Q knew it as well, but could feel his pain radiating off of him in waves.

“So, you are…Quentin?” Mark asked. Mark, the man leaning up against the post, taking up more space somehow than Eliot ever managed to, reminding her of Penny in this regard. His posture was completely different, no trace of the regal fluidity that Eliot had possessed.

Quentin just shifted away, unable to face him, fixing her with a wide stare before looking at the ground.

“And you’re Margo?” He tried smiling at her, regarding her with cautious flirtation. She knew this look well from the many men who had come before him. She could tell he was marveling that Eliot had been able to snag someone as gorgeous as she, not realizing it was completely the other way around. “Were we…?” He left the question hang unfinished.

Quentin suddenly stood, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape. He ran with hand through his hair and looked at her apologetically. “I can’t do this.” He stalked off, slamming the door behind him.

They sat in silence for a long while, watching the direction Q had left, until Mark apparently had worked something out in his head. “Oh. OH. Was Eliot…?”

“He was Eliot.” She cut him off, aware she wasn’t able to keep the anger completely out of her voice.

“But were they...?” She could tell he was way out of his depth here. “I mean, I just assumed…”

She sighed. “You are making an awful lot of assumptions.” She regarded him dispassiontely, feeling somehow even more grief than a person should be able to handle. “They were…complicated.”

She remembered the first time she noticed the shift. Not at first, not when they had just returned, her bone weary and filthy, focused on avoiding her child bride and in want of a soft bed. It was the following morning when they were all together again that she saw it. She had been almost bursting with curiosity as to what had occurred overnight. They had always been easy friends, but this was something altogether new, finishing each other’s sentences, finding any and every excuse just to touch one another. They were a wholly different thing than before.

After Quentin had left in search of the next key, Eliot pulled her aside the first chance he got to tell her about their quest. He spoke hesitantly at first, she could tell the emotions were still raw, but then unflinchingly told her of their life together, so full of loss and struggle, but most of all, love. A deep love had formed between the two men, built on understanding each other in a way only spending an entire lifetime together with someone else could. And, not just for each other. They had loved and lost Quentin’s wife, and, most remarkably, shared a pure and unfettered love for their son. As he finished, she recognized this was the most beautiful love story she had ever heard.

Initially, the ugly part of her she tried to keep buried raised its head as she jealously wondered how she could ever compete with what they shared. But then, amazingly, Eliot seemed to cleave even closer to her, and she realized that that he finally understood he actually did have the capacity to share a love that was so wondrously deep and unconditional. A love that he could now share with her. Quentin had taught him that, and despite and because of this, she found herself falling deeper in love with Q, as well. The three of them had been bonded together, willing to walk through the fire for one another. Eliot already had.

She stood up from the railing then, not really looking at him. “I can’t do this, either.” She walked slowly back towards the house.

“What am I supposed to do now?” His voice was plaintive, she knew he had to be terrified and confused, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

She just shrugged as she opened the door, heading directly to her room. She felt hollow and exhausted. And so terribly alone. On her bed sat a white sheet of paper folded over once, plainly marked with an “M”.

_I saw this and thought of him._

_A fiddle_  
_In the right hands_  
_Can shake the sky_

_Love,_  
Q  


She felt something break completely apart inside of her, she hadn’t even cried yet, but now, she found she couldn’t stop. Huge, soul-wrenching sobs wracked her body and she had bent over in physical pain. She didn’t even realize that Q had come into the room until he was guiding her to lie down beside him, tucking her under his chin, the both of them shaking with sobs as they clung to one another.

As her tears finally subsided, in their place something bright and crystalline began to form. Her resolve was slowly returning, made of steely flint, sharp and fine. No matter what the others had said, how many times they had been told no, they would find him and bring him back. They had to. It wasn’t even an option, considering life without him. Like this, they could never be whole again. She looked up at Quentin, his eyes watery and so very, very sad, and gently touched his face. They would find Eliot. Together, they would once more shake the sky.


	2. Altered Persceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting Eliot back, the gang re-groups before the big fight. Quentin/Eliot fluff + angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack. Sorry, y'all. I thought I should separate this out as a separate fic, but that was bc I am daunted with trying to figure out how they got Eliot back. This has been linked elsewhere, so changed it back. These chapters won't be in order, obviously.

Penny shifted, crossing one foot over the other, stretching his long legs out over the porch railing, savoring the quiet solitude and warm fall sunlight. He took a long drag off of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke and watching the refracted dust motes following his exhalation. Just then, Quentin came out the door, moving with the slow, languid movements he recognized of someone who had been good and truly fucked. Respect. Hoberman’s fuck-board had been created to display Josh’s own conquests, but Penny couldn’t help but notice Q hadn’t fallen far behind, despite his owns inherent disbelief that this skinny douche could even be in the running. Apparently, _this_ Quentin had game.

“Hey. I made coffee.” Quentin shook his cup towards Penny. “Sorry—can I bum one?” Quentin gestured towards Penny’s cigarette, so he shook one out for him, cliché confirmed.

Penny studied him—Quentin had been through some real shit recently, had endured more than what should have been humanly fathomable. Hijacked by a monster only focused on want, losing his best friends and almost losing himself in the process of getting them back. But yet, here he sat, casually smoking and basking in the afterglow. People really were resilient. Penny began considering who could have possibly been Q’s latest conquest. Margo seemed…unlikely. Sure, they’d been together before, but from what Penny had gathered, that was based on some pretty fucked up emotion magic and he had never got that vibe from the two of them. Kady was a possibility, maybe even if she allowed for a pity fuck, which he seriously doubted, but honestly from the little that Penny knew of her, he was pretty sure that she would break Quentin in half. Which left…

Julia made her way onto the porch just then, filling Penny’s throat with bile. _Of course._ “You make this?” She waved her coffee cup at Quentin in disbelief.

“Once and while, I actually get lucky.” Q smiled at her easily, and Penny pictured punching him in his smug face.

Julia snagged Q’s cigarette from his hand, taking a deep drag before exhaling and handing it back. “What are you guys talking about?”

Penny tried to reign in his anger but knew he was failing when Quentin shot him a long, confused glance. Margo and Eliot came through the door then, arms linked. Eliot held Margo’s hand, steering her up onto the railing. Eliot held his cup up in a silent thank you, and Quentin nodded back with a small smile.

Penny hadn’t meant to do it—this was just the way of it sometimes, and seriously Q needed to work on reinforcing his wards—but he felt something pop in his brain, like a soap bubble bursting. Suddenly, he just _knew_. He couldn’t help but swing around to look at Eliot, then back to Quentin. “ _Oh._ ” 

Quentin just watched for a long beat, at first confused, but then rapidly resigned into understanding. He turned his head to the side. “Jesus Christ," he said under his breath.

“Sorry.” He really did feel bad. He hadn’t meant to pry. At all. Fuck.

Everyone had turned to look questioningly between the two of them, but just then, mercifully, Julia’s phone chimed in her pocket. She pulled it out, checking the text she had just received. “Kady's got it. She’s heading back now. Should be here in a couple of hours.”

“I need more coffee.” Quentin launched himself off of his chair and back into the Cottage without looking at anyone along the way.

Eliot made a move to follow him, but Penny got up and made a quick gesture with his hands, _just give me a minute_ , before following Q back back inside. He found Quentin filling his mug at the coffee machine. “Look dude. I really did not mean to pry. I just…”

“Thought I was fucking Julia?’

Penny tried to cover. “Look…I made a mistake, ok. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“Are you serious right now?” Quentin had flopped down on the couch. “I am so not talking about this with you.”

Just then, Eliot entered, surveying the scene. Apparently, their minute was up. “Just making sure we haven’t resorted to kung fu fighting,” he said lightly, pouring himself a straight bourbon yet regarding Quentin with real concern.

“We’re fine.” Quentin leaned back against the couch, jamming the heel of his hand into his left eye.

Penny suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. “Whatever.” Not his monkeys, not his circus. He just shrugged and headed towards the door, leaving them to it.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Eliot rounded the couch and looked down at him. “Everything copacetic?”

Q couldn’t even be angry at Penny. He wasn’t, really. That wasn’t the real reason he felt like punching a wall. Or crying. Or both. “Fine.”

Eliot slid onto the couch next to him, knees touching. “How about once more with feeling.”

“He thought I was sleeping with Julia.” He eyed Eliot from the side.

“So. Are you?” Eliot kept his voice light, but still Quentin couldn’t quite tell if he was really asking.

He just huffed a laugh. “He read my mind. Because he's a fucking prick.”

“Ah. That’s…inconvenient.” Eliot’s eyes were smiling over the top of his glass as he took a sip, sliding his hand down and giving Quentin’s knee a squeeze. He left his hand there. “Are you…ok…with that?”

Quentin sighed, resting his head on the back of the couch. “S’fine. I just didn’t think it would be Penny who would be the first to know.”

“Oh, he’s not.” Quentin sat up at that, but Eliot just smirked at him. “Margo, of course.” 

Right. “Of course.” He was actually very relieved that she knew. For some reason, he didn't quite know how to tell her, and had just assumed that Eliot would. He sighed again.

“So, do you want to talk about what is _really_ bothering you?” Eliot jostled his knee with his hand, encouraging him to speak.

“Not really.” Quentin admitted, but knew time was running out. “I just…”

“I know.” Eliot slid his hand up, pulling Quentin’s shoulder into a half hug. Quentin leaned into Eliot's side. “And, I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I just wish there was a way to save her.” This argument was stale, they had been going around in circles about it ever since Kady had left over two weeks ago to procure the last item for the collaborative magic spell. A spell that would hopefully destroy the library and bring an end to it all, blowing that _thing_ up along with it. Problem was, with all of them required for the casting, there was no way to get Alice or other Penny out alive. He recognized the irony that it had been this very argument which had brought him and Eliot together in the first place.

It had been a huge blow out. They, really Julia, had found this crazy spell that just might work. They finally had a plan that gave them real hope, something which had been in short supply of late. But then, Quentin began to understand for their plan to truly work, Alice and Penny would be lost to them forever. And, no one seemed particularly upset by this. They all still blamed Alice for what happened. He got this, he really did, but he couldn’t just let her _die_ for her mistake. Even though she had damned them to a hell they hadn’t even considered possible. Still, it was _Alice_. Even Kady, who he thought would be on his side if only to save her Penny, as they had come to think of the poor bastard chained to the underworld, had resigned herself that this was the only option.

Quentin had taken the stairs two at a time, trying to put as much distance from the others as quickly as he could, slamming his door behind him. Not even five minutes had passed before Eliot came in, closing the door. He was holding a bottle of whiskey between two fingers of one hand and two glasses in the other. He tilted the bottle, filling both with generous portions, handing one to Quentin. Quentin immediately slammed it down, wordlessly holding out the glass for another pour.

“So, it is going to be like that, huh?” He downed his own glass before refilling both, settling on the edge of the bed next to Quentin.

Quentin drained his second glass, feeling the warm liquid pool in his belly and already a bit heady. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He held the glass up to Eliot, who dutifully refilled it. He knew he could count on Eliot to lead him down the rabbit hole. He sighed. “Fuck.”

“Yep.” Eliot was just staring straight ahead, fixing on a spot on the wall, absently sipping. He blinked a few times rapidly and turned, now focusing on Quentin. “Look, Q. I know it feels like everyone is against you right now, but that isn’t the case.” He sighed again, eyes soft and very sad. “We would save her, if we could. You have to know that, right?”

Quentin did. He fucking knew. It didn’t make things any easier, but he had to admit it did help a little to hear Eliot say it.They had already lost so much, the thought of losing even one more was almost unbearable. He tossed back a third glass, closing his eyes, feeling the burn all the way down. He took in a deep breath and set his glass on the floor. This had to be said. “Eliot. You have to understand. When I…" he faltered a little, "when we…thought you were gone forever, I was so fucking shattered, I couldn’t even.... I felt like it was a part of _me_ that had died. ” 

Eliot was just silently watching him, an unreadable look on his face. They hadn’t talked about what had happened, they all had been avoiding the subject, just so fucking glad to have Eliot back.

“It was Margo who was the one. She got our shit together, pushed us forward. _She_ was the one who brought you back to us.” Quentin felt shame blossom on his cheeks, but he just felt so relieved to have finally admitted this out loud.

Eliot nodded once, then drained his glass and set it on the floor at his feet, again studying Quentin’s face.

Quentin suddenly felt the urge to close the distance between them, wanting to take comfort in the fact that Eliot was warm and real and alive and _here_. As they had done so many times in the past. Or maybe, just the once, under very different circumstances. He hesitated a second, then wrapped his hand around Eliot’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Eliot didn’t pull away, but he didn’t exactly return the kiss, so Quentin pulled back quickly, hurt warring with rejection.

Eliot sighed deeply, regarding Quentin with something he couldn’t quite place. He seemed to be steeling himself for something, and Quentin felt his stomach fill with dread. “Look, Q.” He looked Quentin directly in the eyes, taking another deep, steadying breath. “This doesn’t have to mean everything. But, I think we are at the point where this does have to mean something.” Quentin’s brain seemed to on a five second delay, but he was slowly catching up. Oh. Eliot’s voice was soft, but he could hear the urgency behind the question “Is this what you want?”

“I…” He huffed out a breath. He looked down for a moment, realizing the weight of what he had been asked, wanting to check himself before answering. He felt Eliot starting to pull away, so he gave his neck a brief squeeze, holding him in place. He did want it. Had wanted it. Ever since losing him and getting him back, Quentin had come to understand that beyond desire, he fucking _needed_ Eliot like he fucking needed air. “Yeah. Yes.” He carefully regarded Eliot. “What do you want?”

Eliot looked at him solemnly, not responding for a few seconds. Quentin could hear his own heartbeat slamming in his chest. “Oh, Q. You already know the answer.” He cupped Quentin’s jaw, pulling him closer into a deep kiss.

That night, they finally gave a name for what they had between them, that which they had been dancing around for what seemed like forever. They knew each other so well, it was just so easy to fall back into what they had before during their shared lifetime. To know someone that deeply, to be laid bare in front of someone like that was as fucking terrifying as it was wondrous. Quentin found he had needed the surety, and drew strength simply from _being_ with Eliot. More than ever, he found himself leaning on Eliot when shit got really real.

He knew that he wasn't the person that Eliot leaned on, not completely. That was Margo. But, he felt surprisingly no bitterness over this fact. What he felt, instead, was relief. Whatever they shared had not put a wedge between Eliot and Margo. In fact, it had only seemed to forge the bond between his two friends even closer, a fact that Quentin found himself strangely proud of. Hadn't they both gone the long way around just to discover there were many different ways to love a person, and be loved? How could he truly love Eliot if he denied him that?

Quentin was pulled back to the present when Eliot kissed him lightly on the temple, then nuzzled the spot behind Quentin's ear that he knew he liked. Quentin leaned into the touch, and Eliot sighed, a soft breath on his neck. “We should be getting ready, Q.”

He sat up, brushing invisible lint from his jeans, knowing if he further tried to push his point with Alice they would just go in circles again. “So, what did Margo say? When you told her?”

Eliot laughed, surprised. “Oh. I didn’t tell her. She just cornered me the very next morning and said something about us finally getting our fucking heads out of our asses.”

Quentin laughed softly in reply. “Sounds about right.”

“Indeed.” He stood, holding his hand out to Quentin. “You ready?”

Quentin allowed himself to be pulled upwards. He gave Eliot's hand a small squeeze and received one in return. He was ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Haiku credit: Michael McClintock. Comments and kudos are love.


End file.
